Crime Time

"Thanks," he said but he didn't bite on my invitation.

Martha stopped me upstairs a little later as I was coming out of my room.

"I'm worried about Howie but I don't know what to do. I feel terrible making him sleep in the lab room, but really, Quinn's equipment hardly makes a sound. What should I do? Should I press him?"

"I'd wait for him come to us. I hope he does."

She sighed. "Quinn thinks I should mind my own business. I just hate to see Howie suffering; especially after all he's gone through."

We spent the next hour discussing potential rainy day activities. A movie or a trip to town was suggested and met with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. There was little interest in another round of Monopoly. The weather made outdoor activities unrealistic. Betsy was in the kitchen, baking scones for a mid-morning snack, while the rest of us were lounging around the main room vetoing each other's suggestions. Howie, who had remained silent, stepped forward. He was a bundle of nerves.

"I guess I'd like a little input from you guys, if you don't mind. It's something that's really got me down. It's going to take an open mind on everyone's part, believe me." We all readily agreed. Martha caught my eye and winked. Betsy strolled in, wiping flour from her hands on a dish towel.

Howie took a deep breath and began. "I went to sleep last night, almost as soon as my head hit the pillow."

"The buzz didn't bother you?" Martha asked.

"On the contrary, I didn't even hear it. It's what happened next that's got me troubled."

"Go on," Martha prompted. I caught Quinn roll his eyes. "Get it off your chest."

"I'll call it a dream for lack of another word but that's not what I experienced."

"A flashback," I suggested.

Howie shook his head. "Not that either; it was much more intense. I found myself in a farm house living room where a woman who looked maybe in her thirties was ironing shirts. She was humming a tune I didn't recognize. There was a little girl of about six or seven playing with a doll on the floor. A large grey cat was asleep on a rocking chair. I took it all in for a few moments and it petrified me! Then I woke up."

"What's petrifying about that?" Quinn said.

Martha agreed. "It sounds pretty benign, Howie."

"It wasn't the scene; it was the fact that it was so incredibly real. I was standing there! I was scared to death I couldn't . . . get back!"

"A really vivid dream," Betsy said. "I sometimes have them too."